Ghost-Talker
by vandevere
Summary: This time, it's personal. X-ver with movie "Reflections of Murder".
1. Chapter 1

It had been less than a year ago when Jack McCoy's life had been irrevocably changed. He'd been in a motorcycle accident, clinically dead for around five minutes. When he'd been brought back, he came back with…

A gift…a curse…

McCoy wasn't sure which. But he'd used it to bring justice for a girl who'd been murdered back in Nineteen Eighty-three.

Now, she was at peace, and her killer, Dr. Liam Kennedy, was dead, shot while fleeing the police.

Of course, Jack McCoy had almost died too.

 _Probably not best to dwell upon that too deeply…_

Now, simply attending to his duties as Adam Schiff's Executive Assistant DA, Jack McCoy saw lots of people every day.

What Adam Schiff, and all his associates, didn't know-what they must _never_ know-was that those people Jack McCoy saw weren't always alive.

Some were dead, and only visible to McCoy.

He had made his peace with that. The Dead were as entitled to Justice as the Living…

His new-found ability to see the shades of the departed wasn't the only strange thing going on in McCoy's life.

Just this morning, at a small bistro for coffee and breakfast…

"Mike!" a hand clapping on his shoulder as a complete stranger plops into the seat at the counter right next to him, continues speaking. "Didn't know you were here! You're looking good!"

McCoy just sat there, stunned, as the man spoke on.

"Didn't expect to see you here in the Big Apple, though. Thought you were still teaching at Groton. Still with Vicky?"

McCoy didn't know the man, didn't have any idea what he was talking about, and he certainly didn't know… _Vicky_ …

All he could do was try to ease himself out of this, somehow… _alarming_ …situation, utter empty replies and, make as quick an exit as he could.

Later, at night, he had the nightmare…

 _She's in the bathroom, paralyzed by utter terror, her heart palpitating._

 _A dead man is slowly rising out of the full tub, water streaming from hair and clothes, his eyes a sheer terror to behold._

 _Her heart spasms, and she reaches for her pills, the bottle open, the pills falling to the floor as the bottle empties, and darkness claims her…_

Jack McCoy jolted awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, heart racing.

"Shit…"

He got out of bed, walked into the bathroom.

No tub there, at least. McCoy preferred showers, so he'd been glad to see this bathroom came equipped with a shower-stall.

Sighing, McCoy rinsed his face in the bathroom sink. The man he'd seen rising from the tub had looked like him.

A _lot_ like him. Younger, though…

Like early-to-mid thirties.

But Jack McCoy could not recall ever having done such a thing in his life…

Then, through the bathroom mirror, he saw… _her_.

The woman in the dream, glaring daggers at him.

 _If looks could kill…_


	2. Chapter 2

Jack McCoy sat at attention. The jury had been called in after deciding upon the verdict.

"Madam Foreman," Judge Joseph Rivera asked. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, your Honor," the woman said. "We, the Jury, find the Defendant, Barry Crane, Guilty on all counts."

McCoy nodded in satisfaction. Crane had murdered his…mistress for the sin of becoming pregnant by him.

He had refused to take a Plea, was going to spend the rest of his life in prison.

 _Serves him right…_

Only one thing marred McCoy's mood over winning the case.

That woman from his dreams…the ghost…

She was here, in Court, standing next to the Jury, and McCoy sensed the symbolism of her standing _there, next to the Jury,_ as she glared at him, mortal hatred, in her gaze.

But, as hard as he tried, he couldn't get her to speak to him. She wouldn't tell him why she hated him, what he had done to make her hate him so.

That, and the repeated nightmares of her death, the…doppelgänger…rising up from the full tub, with staring, un-natural eyes...

McCoy had no option but to try something…drastic.

"Can you hold the office for me, Jamie?" he asked his Assistant.

"Yeah…" Jamie Ross said. "What's wrong?"

"I…" McCoy felt oddly reluctant...

"I've got some…personal stuff to see too. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Sure," Jamie smiled. "I'll hold the fort."

McCoy sighed in relief.

The Ren Faire was back in town, just outside of city limits.

 _Maybe Anna will be there…_

…..

Anna the Wise Woman-AKA Nanette Morris-was sitting at her small stall. Business had been good today, and she had been able to help her various assorted customers through heartaches, fear, and bereavement.

Then, she saw… _him._

Jack McCoy.

She remembered him from last year, when he'd been haunted by two ghosts; one a girl murdered several years before, the other a woman McCoy had loved.

Those two were gone, into the Light, Anna hoped. As for Jack McCoy…

He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well.

Fortunately, Anna was finishing up with her last customer of the day.

She gave McCoy a barely perceptible nod. He nodded marginally, and turned to look at a display of vintage Mood Rings.

So, Anna turned back to her customer, a girl with her aura marred by soul-deep grief.

"Jeffrey is at peace, Michelle," she took the girl's hands in hers, feeling the Life Essence within. "He wants you to _live_ , Michelle. He wants you to be happy."

 _"How?"_ Michelle's eyes welled.

"Small steps, sweetheart," Anna drew out her card. "Call me whenever you need me, and I'll help you however I can. But you need to let go of Jeff. He wants you to be happy."

The girl nodded tremulously as she pocketed the card.

"You really want me to call you?" she asked.

"Whenever it gets too hard…yes."

Michelle nodded again, and to Anna's eyes, her aura looked better now.

Michelle didn't know it yet, but she had passed a corner in her period of mourning over her husband's passing.

 _She'll wake up tomorrow morning feeling lighter, stronger…_

"Thank you," Michelle whispered, then turned and walked away.

Anna stood too, made her way over to Jack McCoy, still staring at the display case of Mood Rings.

"I didn't expect to see _you_ here," she touched his hand gently. "Are you all right?"

He sighed softly.

"I have a problem…" he finally admitted.

"Okay…" Anna considered. "Want to get something to drink?"

"Not that godawful mead…"

"No," Anna laughed. "There's a highly anachronistic coffee spot a few lanes over." She pointed.

"Thank the lord…" McCoy muttered softly.

Five minutes later, coffees in hand, sitting at a small table; and it was clear Jack McCoy didn't know where to begin.

"Just… _talk_ , Jack," Anna sipped her coffee. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

"I hope so…McCoy muttered. Then, clearly steeling himself, he took a deep breath, then let the words come out.

"There's this woman, and I've never seen her before in my life. I don't even know her name. She… _hates_ me, Anna. I think she would like nothing more than to see me die a horrible death. But I don't even know her."

"Jack…you're a _Medium_ …" Anna touched his hand. "Have you tried talking to her?"

"Of course I have!" McCoy snapped. "Problem is she won't talk to me! She just stands there, glaring at me."

"All right…" Anna sat back, riffling through her mind for solutions. "Has she interacted with you in any other way; like through your dreams?"

"Yeah…" McCoy shivered as he peered into his coffee. "Think I dreamed her death. But what I saw just doesn't make sense!"

"Why not?"

"I don't know her, Anna! Never met her until she started haunting me. But in her dream, _I…_ "

McCoy swallowed, and Anna could see the fear in him.

"She thinks I killed her."


	3. Chapter 3

A murder in Manhattan, and a killer fled to Puget Sound.

 _And an ADA on his way to Puget Sound to extradite said killer…_

Jack McCoy was flying Coach. The DA's office didn't have any extra dosh to spend on fripperies like Business Class.

So, there Jack McCoy was, jammed in between various other harried travelers who just wanted to get from Point A to Point B…

Chris Metzler-the Suspect Du Jour-had apparently flown Business Class coming and going, the lucky sod.

Eventually, McCoy arrived at his chosen destination; and not a moment too soon…

Several hours crammed in with a harried-looking mother, and her little baby, who didn't stop screaming through the entire trip…

 _Any longer, and_ _ **I'd**_ _be facing murder charges…_

…..

"Seen our guy yet?"

Detective Frank Randazzo was taking his ease while his Junior Partner, Steve Carey, kept lookout.

The plane from Manhattan had come in. So, assuming he hadn't missed his flight, the Executive Assistant DA should be turning up any minute.

"I see him," Detective Cary pointed as Randazzo stood.

Detective Randazzo saw a man very close to his own height, but lean of build, hawk-featured, and dark of hair and eye.

Jack McCoy was apparently traveling light, with only the one duffle bag slung over a shoulder.

 _My, my…aren't we optimistic…_

"Jack McCoy," the man made introductions, so Randazzo responded in kind.

"I'm Detective Frank Randazzo, and this is my partner, Detective Steve Carey. You're here for Chris Metzler?"

"Yeah," McCoy nodded. "He in custody yet?"

"Not yet, Mr. McCoy. But we can pick him up now. Provided you brought the warrant with you."

McCoy reached into the pocket of his shabby green jacket, produced the papers.

"Good," Randazzo pocketed the warrant. "Hope you're not seasick, Mr. McCoy…"

"No, I'm not," McCoy tilted his head slightly. "Why?"

"Metzler teaches at the Island School," Randazzo said. "As its name suggests, it's situated on an island, and there aren't any bridges. We'll have to make the trip by boat."

…

 _Three hours later_

"Mr. Elliott!" the Head Mistress, Emma Weir, exclaimed. "How surprising to see you here after so long a time!"

"Uh…excuse me?"

It was the second time he'd been mistaken for someone else, and it was beginning to alarm Jack McCoy.

 _Does this have anything to do with the ghost?_

 _She_ was here too, silently glaring at McCoy.

Emma Weir led the visitors up to her private quarters, talking all the way…

"I never expected to see you again; especially after the tragedy of Claire's death."

McCoy stumbled.

 _Claire?_

 _How did she know about Claire?_

"Still…" Weir continued on, blithely unaware to the bombshell she had just dropped on McCoy.

"We all knew you weren't happy here, Mr. Elliott. It was no surprise to us when you sold the School."

Heart pounding, mouth dry, McCoy held up a hand.

"I'm not this…Mr. Elliott you seem to think I am. I'm Jack McCoy, and I'm the Executive Assistant DA for the District of Manhattan."

"Really?" Emma Weir stood there, eyes wide.

"Really, and _truly_ ," McCoy affirmed.

"Well…" Weir looked up at McCoy. "This has got to be the most amazing thing I've ever seen. You look so much like Michael Elliott…it's kind of frightening, actually. Here…let me show you."

"Uh…"Detective Randazzo cleared his throat. "You can do that, Ms. Weir. Detective Carey and I have a warrant to arrest Chris Metzler. Do you know where he is?"

"Down at the Gymnasium, I think," Weir said. "Or in the Dorms…"

"Okay…" Randazzo nodded. "We'll collect him and come back here."

Then, they were gone, leaving an uneasy Jack McCoy with Emma Weir. The woman rummaged around in her desk, came up with something that looked like a high end version of a School Yearbook.

"We're a small school," she explained as she handed the yearbook over. "We generally have no more than around fifty students, and only three, or four teachers."

The yearbook looked expensive, bound in tooled leather, the year, _1974_ , etched in gold ink on the leather.

"This was Claire Elliott's last year," Weir spoke sadly. "She died suddenly at School-year's end…"

 _Claire Elliott...not Claire Kincaid..._

McCoy felt sort of relieved. It would have been more than he could bear if strangers had somehow learned of his bereavement...

Sighing, he opened the yearbook, the pages falling on the photos of the faculty.

McCoy's mouth went dry on seeing Claire Elliott's photo.

It was the ghost who haunted him, glared at him with hate-filled eyes; and the reason wasn't far to seek…

 _Michael Elliott…Oh, my god…_

 _His_ face looked up at him; in every respect, it was _his_ face...

His eyes, his nose, his jawline.

Michael Elliott's face looked younger, though.

But, that photo had been taken back in Nineteen Seventy-four.

 _I was younger then too…_

He put the Yearbook down; truly stunned by the resemblance between himself and Michael Elliott.

 _We could have been identical twins…_

"May I use the bathroom?" he needed to be alone for just a few minutes, to wrap his brain around what he had just seen.

"Yes, Mr. McCoy," she pointed. "It's right over there."

Inside the bathroom, with the door closed, he stared at the tub.

 ** _That_** _tub…My god…_

 _It happened here._

Jack McCoy stepped up to the tub, looked around. _This_ was the place of his nightmares…

The place where a woman had died, where his doppelgänger had risen out of the tub with un-natural eyes…

 _Michael Elliott killed his wife; and he got away with it…_

 _He got away clean…_


	4. Chapter 4

_1 Hogan Place_

 _Manhattan, NY_

"If you plead to Man One, I could be persuaded to ask for Minimum Sentence," McCoy glared at Chris Metzler and his lawyer. "It's the deal of the century."

"I didn't kill the bitch," Metzler scoffed. "She was already dead when I found her. Not that she didn't have it coming, sleeping with whatever, and whomever…"

McCoy sighed, and rubbed his face tiredly.

"She could have the reputation of a Messalina for all I care," he sighed again. "Doesn't mean you have the right to kill her."

Metzler was frowning at McCoy.

"What?" McCoy demanded.

"You ever teach?"

That threw the attorney back to what he had learned at the Island School.

 _Michael Elliott…_

Claire Elliott was watching McCoy grill Metzler too, still glaring at him with that hateful look…

"No," McCoy shook his head. "I'm a prosecutor, not a teacher. Why?"

"You've got a cosmic twin," Metzler grinned briefly. "He teaches at Groton, and he's a real sonofabitch."

 _So I gather…_

"You going to take the deal or do we go to trial?" he finally demanded.

McCoy waited patiently as Chris Metzler and his lawyer huddled together. Then, Metzler straightened.

"Minimum Sentence?" he asked.

"Yes," McCoy nodded as he stood, looking at his watch. "You have only thirty seconds to decide, so I-"

"I'll take it," Metzler said.

…..

 _"Groton?"_ Adam Schiff stood there, eyes wide as he stared at his Executive Assistant DA. Jack McCoy had requested a week off.

 _Personal business,_ he'd said.

 _Personal business at Groton…_

"You okay?" Schiff asked cautiously.

McCoy had been looking rather…stressed…these last few weeks.

"I'm okay," McCoy said firmly. "Just need to go to Groton."

 _Why?_

Schiff put the momentary frustration down. He knew Jack McCoy trusted him.

 _He'll tell me when he's good and ready…_

 _….._

Jack McCoy had elected to go by train; leave the driving to someone else.

He had other things on his mind right now.

 _Thank God Adam didn't press for an explanation._

Adam Schiff was perhaps the one person in Jack's life that he couldn't lie to.

"I see dead people…" McCoy muttered softly, trying to imagine how Adam would have reacted to that.

 _Not well, I'd imagine…_

So he wouldn't have understood McCoy's reason for going to Groton.

 _To track down a killer that looks exactly like me…_


End file.
